


and then they did it AGAIN

by slambam



Series: nice to know you [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Dick Simmons, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slambam/pseuds/slambam
Summary: "You good, boss?" His voice is low and husky but soft, and Simmons almost wants to cry he's so grateful - grateful that it's Grif, that he's like this. Patient, intuitive - so intuitive, but he always has been. Simmons didn't always notice, but he's not that intuitive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i guess technically this comes before and then they did it. first timeish. a good time had by all. i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> also, the "boss" thing is a headcanon borrowed from tumblr user hawaiian-shave-vice and it's very precious and important i love it and you should too

Simmons sprawls on the bed, catching his breath and trying to keep his head in the moment as Grif stumbles over himself kicking off his sweats. He's seen the shapes of Grif's body so many times - hell, they've been bunkmates for years, he's seen almost everything, but never so... explicitly. Never all at once. His guts twist and he pauses before lifting his hips, sliding his own boxers down and drawing his knees upwards so he can get them low enough to kick off. Grif's stripping off his shirt and Simmons watches, absently slipping his hand between his legs to toy with his clit, sliding its length between two parted fingers, the fingertips of his other hand resting on his lips.

Grif turns, finally free of his clothes, and freezes, watching. Simmons has the vague thought of stopping, but he doesn't- just locks eyes with Grif, heart pounding, and slides his fingers lower. The sensation keeps him grounded, keeps his thoughts from going too fast as anticipation builds.

"Fuck, Simmons."

There's no edge to Grif's voice, just want, and Simmons shivers.

"That's - that's the idea." Simmons' voice cracks but Grif smiles anyway, a little huff of a laugh escaping him.

  
“Fuck, yeah. Yes.” He steps forward, clambers onto the bed and leans down - there’s just a moment's hesitation before Simmons pulls him down with his free hand, securing his arm around Grif's neck as he presses kisses to Grif’s mouth.

  
Grif shifts and his dick bumps Simmons's thigh - fuck, he's hard - then pulls back, his dark eyes fixed for the moment on Simmons' face.

"Do you want me to - "

Simmons nods, swallowing hard. "Fuck, Grif - yes. Fuck."

"How?"

Of course Grif would ask how.

"I... I don't… I don’t know. It's really been a long time, and - and stuff's different, and -" There go the floodgates and he's stammering, fighting to make some sense. Simmons hand between his thighs stills and he resents it immediately - for fuck's sake, he's a grown man, he shouldn't be locking up like this, not with Grif, not while he's about to fuck for the first time in years - and then Grif kisses him again and he comes back down to earth.

“It’s fine, dude. This is fun, remember? Fun?" There's a softness in his voice even as he teases and Simmons swallows, shifting backwards. Grif sits up slightly, setting a hand on Simmons's thigh and glances over him, hungry-eyed but thinking. "Can I watch you?"

"I... like I was before?"

"Yeah, boss. I'm probably a visual learner or whatever."

Boss. Simmons flushes slightly, but nods, keeping his eyes locked on Grif's face as he slips his hand back downwards, spreading his legs across Grif's lap. Grif almost looks like he's going to collapse at the sight, dick twitching, but he doesn't, just watching Simmons's face and then his hand, breath starting to quiver as he moves one hand to stroke himself loosely.

Simmons lets himself fall into it and it's easy, it's familiar, even with Grif's rough, warm palm on his inner thigh, even as the thumb of that hand brushes just slightly over his labia and he shivers, even as Grif's fingers join his and they're moving in tandem.

Definitely a visual learner, then.

Slowly, Simmons lifts his hand away and then it's only Grif - with fingers so much broader than his own and calloused, and Simmons is slick enough now that he can hear it as Grif moves - pressure, release, up and down, blunt fingertips brushing his entrance until he asks for them. Grif obliges, eagerly, and Simmons bites back moans as Grif presses the heel of his hand to Simmons' clit, pressing it downwards as he sinks another finger inside.

  
"Grif, Jesus Christ - Grif!!"

"Fuck, Simmons, I want to eat you out," Grif blurts and Simmons moans, pressing back into the mattress.

"Please, Grif, oh my god - yes -"

Grif releases himself and slides downwards, slowly drawing out slick fingers and returning them to Simmons's clit, pressing blunt kisses to Simmons's chest, his stomach, his hip, all the while keeping up the steady, even rhythm of his fingers. Simmons can feel his heartbeat in his ears, rushing blood, stomach in knots, but not from anxiety - from anticipation, and he thanks any power that might be listening that it doesn't have to be the former. Grif settles on his stomach between Simmons's thighs, barely propped on an elbow as he looks up and keeps up those even strokes.

"You good, boss?" His voice is low and husky but soft, and Simmons almost wants to cry he's so grateful - grateful that it's Grif, that he's like this. Patient, intuitive - so intuitive, but he always has been. Simmons didn't always notice, but he's not that intuitive.

Simmons nods, leaning back on his elbows, and Grif gives him a little half-smirk before leaning down. In one fluid motion, the pressure of Grif's fingers is replaced by the slick, hot draw of his tongue and Simmons presses his lips together to stifle a cry, falling back against the mattress. Grif hums in response, hooking an arm around Simmons's thigh to rest reassuringly on his sternum. Without thinking, Simmons grabs it, squeezing, and runs the fingers of his other hand into Grif's hair. The pace Grif keeps is the same, even and steady, but with the warmth, the slickness, the sight of Grif's head moving between his legs, it becomes torturous.

"Breathe," Grif murmurs against his thigh, gripping his hand lightly before returning to the more immediate task.

  
Simmons listens. His first exhale is Grif's name, the second please, more.

Grif listens, too. He wraps his other arm around Simmons's metal thigh, holding him down and pulling him close as he quickens his efforts, groaning and grinding his hips into the mattress as Simmons rocks against his face.

"Tell me you like it," Simmons breathes, tangling both hands in Grif's hair and pulling. "Grif, fuck, - "

"I love it." His voice is almost a growl but that softness is still there and Simmons bucks against Grif's restraining arm, whimpering. "You're so hard, you taste so fucking good - shit. I want to make you cum like this, Simmons - wanna feel it - "

"Son of a bitch, please!! Ohh please - fuck, - Grif, - "

Grif seals his lips around his clit and sucks, moving his head slightly back and stars pop behind Simmons's eyes as he's cut off by his own strangled moan. He drags his fingertips over Grif's scalp, metal hand springing up to cover his mouth as he thrusts against Grif's, whimpering against lips pressed tight together. Grif moves with him, against him, running his tongue flat and rough over the entirety of his sex before teasing deeper, upwards and along the underside of his clit, driving Simmons's hips higher as he chases the sensation. Grif seals his lips again, pressing tight against Simmons's clit as he lathes his tongue over the tip of it, and Simmons half-sobs into the hand over his mouth, it’s almost too much, it's so good - better than he knew it could be, everything he'd wanted, and before he wants it to be over he's climaxing, thighs clamping against Grif's head as he digs his heels into the mattress, toes flexing as he lifts his hips into Grif's now frantic attentions.

  
He draws quick breaths, moaning his incoherent appreciation into the still air and Grif doesn't stop, groaning and running his tongue over Simmons's sex, pressing it to his throbbing clit until Simmons goes limp with a quiet moan, legs falling back open as he runs his shaking fingers into his own hair. When he opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling they're blurry with tears he didn't remember welling up and he blinks them away, breath slowing.

Grif pulls away, pressing his face into Simmons's thigh for a few moments and panting before he pushes himself up to sit on his knees. His face is wet and he's smiling, dazedly, looking pretty damn pleased with himself, and it’s… it’s so like him. Something twists in Simmons' chest and he reaches for Grif, desperate for he isn't sure what. As Grif leans in and sets a hand next to his head Simmons grabs him, pulls him down and tries to kiss into Grif the swell of gratitude in his chest that he can't find words to communicate. It's deep and messy and he can taste himself on Grif's tongue, and he smiles back as Grif smiles against his mouth. When Grif pulls back - when Simmons releases him, rather, knees pressed loosely to Grif's hips, he's still smiling - and Simmons smiles back, scrubbing at his tear-streaked temple with the heel of his hand.

"What about you?" He murmurs, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a look at Grif. He's softening up, something smeared and drying across his soft stomach and it takes Simmons a moment to process what that means.

"I'm... I'm good. I got there." He looks almost flustered and Simmons watches, smile widening. "You, uh - don't fuckin' look at me like that, Simmons, Jesus, it's been a while and you're... really fucking hot. Really, this is your fault."

Simmons grins at him, and Grif tries not to grin back. It doesn't work, and Grif flops down next to him on the too-thin bed, shifting to accommodate as Simmons does his best to tangle himself inextricably around Grif.


End file.
